


Work It Out

by Carbynn



Series: Royed Week 2018 [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Arguing, Domestic problems, Fighting, M/M, PTSD, Relationship Issues, They hug and make up it's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 01:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbynn/pseuds/Carbynn
Summary: Domestic bliss isn't always a given.





	Work It Out

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Fighting/Making Up
> 
> Hi, I'm not dead, I'm just here procrastinating and cranking out content for Royed Week just barely under the deadline.

“Edward.” Roy’s voice is strained, just barely holding back the anger Ed’s sure lingers in the depths of that careful tone. It’s a tone Ed’s familiar with, one that’s been directed at him repeatedly over the course of their so far short-lived cohabitation, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. The Tone never heralds anything positive.

Roy emerges into the bedroom with a gray towel clutched a little too tightly in his hands. “Edward, I know I’ve asked you a thousand times to _please_ stop hanging your dirty towels over the shower rod.”

Ed’s tired. It seems like they’ve been fighting the whole time he’s been here and he’s just _tired._ “And I’ve told you a thousand times that _I reuse my towels._ I don’t understand why the fuck you feel the need to waste the time and water washing a towel that’s only ever touched your naked, clean body one singular time.”

“It’s unhygienic, and leaving your used towels out creates clutter.”

“It’s fucking not,” Ed snarls. “And I didn’t realize moving in with you meant signing up to live in a home magazine spread.” It isn’t just the towels, either. It’s dishes in the sink during meals, shoes next to the door, jackets draped over the back of chairs, pants and shirts mixed up in the closet, things that Ed had done for years without giving a second thought to that seemingly drive Roy into a frenzy.

Ed’s never seen this side of Roy before, and it scares the shit out of him. They’re a good thing, the best thing Ed has ever made for himself in his entire shit life probably, and he’s terrified of losing this.

Roy sighs, and some of the anger retreats into a weariness that’s betrayed by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I’m not asking much of you, Edward. I’m only asking that you respect my home.”

Ed’s been impaled through the gut with a steel support beam, but even that has nothing on the sharp suddenness of the agony he feels in the pit of his stomach. Roy’s misspoken, he knows he has, but that doesn’t take away from the raw, throbbing _hurt_. “Your home, huh?” Ed stands from where he’s been perched on the edge of their bed, on the edge of _Roy’s_ bed, apparently, because he’s not going to cower and let Roy look down on him while he cuts him to pieces. “Maybe I misunderstood what you meant when you asked me to move in with you.”

As a general rule, Ed doesn’t do _home_. Sure, the small apartment he’d shared with Al had been something like it, but the concept had still been unfamiliar to him after years spent in transience. Ed doesn’t know how to settle, not really. There’s always a hint of unease, a restlessness in his day to day that stops him from feeling like he belongs, like he’s safe, like the worst of everything is finally over and he gets to live his life for himself instead of in the shadow of a mistake. There’s always something missing that stops him from relaxing, and until he’d woken up in Roy’s arms for the first time in a bedroom that belonged to _them,_ Ed hadn’t been sure he’d ever find it.

Roy’s face changes with the realization of what he’s said. “I didn’t mean—“

“Didn’t you? You’ve been treating me like shit since I moved in here. I’m sorry I don’t understand your unwritten rules of order and cleanliness, rules that, by the way, you never thought to bring to my attention when I was spending the night with you, but I can’t keep doing this.” Ed’s face is hot and he feels like he’s crumbling. “If you want me to leave, just fucking say so.”

Silence lapses and even though Roy looks stricken, he doesn’t say anything for so long that Ed’s pretty sure the answer to, ‘Do you want me to leave?’ is a hard ‘Yes’ but Roy doesn’t know how to say it.

Ed decides to save him the trouble.

“That’s fine.” It isn’t. “It’s…. I understand.” He doesn’t, but it doesn’t matter. “Al hasn’t broken the lease on the apartment yet. Let me get some stuff together and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Ed feels hollow as he moves to the closet and drags down his suitcase from where he’d stashed it not even a week ago. It’s lucky, he supposes, that he’d kept his old habit of living light. There isn’t much to pack, and anything he can’t get now he can deal with later.

A pressure on his back pauses his trembling hand as he reaches to pull a shirt from its hanger and he spins around in surprise, but of course it’s only Roy.

“I don’t want you to leave.” A hesitant hand settles on his waist and Ed’s too miserable to think of twisting out of Roy’s grasp, comforted by the warmth of him in spite of his hurt and anger.

“Then what the fuck _do_ you want? I don’t know what you’re expecting from me.” Ed’s still clutching the handle of the suitcase, holding it between them like it’s a shield. “You’re the one who’s acting different.”

It’s like Roy’s eyes can’t find his. He seems to settle for focusing on some vague point in the open closet behind him before he hazards an attempt at what Ed hopes will be an explanation. “I didn’t think it would be like this.”

It’s not much of an explanation at all actually and Ed’s still perplexed, and maybe just a touch more angry. “Be like what?”

Roy doesn’t look like he even knows how to explain. There’s frustration written across his face and the hand on Ed’s waist tightens just a little bit. “It was different when you weren’t living here. I knew to expect things to be different when you were staying over. I suppose it’s not the same when I’m taken by surprise.”

Ed still couldn’t really figure out what the hell Roy was talking about. “Does a wet towel really disturb you that fucking much?”

“It isn’t the towel, it’s the clutter.”

“I hardly think _one towel_ constitutes—“

“I’m surprised,” Roy continues, cutting off Ed’s argument, “that the military didn’t instill a more rigid standard of tidiness in you, and a need for the sort of control that order brings you.”

It’s like a bolt of lightning flashes in Ed’s head, illuminating everything. He can’t believe he’s been so fucking stupid. “Did the military do that to you, or was that the war?”

Ed’s either hit the nail on the head or he’s made a terrible mistake. Either way, Roy shuts down. The hand drops from his waist and he puts space between them, finally managing to settle his eyes on Ed’s face. Ishval is always a sensitive topic, and Ed avoids bringing it up even though he’s sure Roy would benefit from letting some of his demons out to play. “We’re not talking about the war.”

Ed could let it slide. He could find some other way to solve this, could talk it out without actually getting to the root of the problem, but that’s not gonna help anything, and pushing can’t really make anything worse since they’ve already reached the point where Ed’s holding his fucking suitcase in front of an open closet. “I think we are.” Roy had said it just a minute ago. Order gives him control, and he sure didn’t have much of that in Ishval. Maybe keeping his shit clean was the only control he’d had at all.

Roy turns away from him and drops the towel in his hands into the hamper. “The war has been over for a long time. Continuing to dwell on it would be ridiculous.”

“It’s okay to admit that it fucked you up, Roy.” Ed drops the suitcase in front of the closet and crosses over to him, curling his fingers in the crook of his arm to turn him around because he is _not_ having this conversation with the back of Roy’s head. “It’s okay to admit that it bothers you. You’re not the only one whose past messed them up. You’re not even the only person in this room.” Roy’s not looking at him again and Ed thinks that means he’s getting to him. “Damage doesn’t make you weak, and hiding it’s not good for you.”

“I don’t think you’re really one to talk about healthy coping habits,” Roy says after what seems like an eternity of silence, and there’s an edge of a tease in his voice which, Ed thinks, is progress.

“Yeah, well, we’re not talkin’ about me,” Ed shoots back. “You can proselytize to me after my inevitable breakdown but right now we’re talking about yours. Besides, I thought you liked being the center of attention.”

“The center of _your_ attention, certainly.”

The banter is good. It’s easy and familiar, and a sign that maybe the worst of the fight is behind them. “Hard not to pay attention to you when your ego’s so big.”

Roy’s hands migrate to his hips. “I know you might have trouble recognizing anything of a normal size considering—“

“I’d _consider_ not finishing that sentence if I were you.”

Roy manages half of a smile and he moves his thumbs in careful circles against Ed’s hipbones. “I’m sorry.”

Ed knows he’s not talking about the short joke. “Me too.”

Roy tugs him a little bit closer and moves his hands up to turn his careful hold into an embrace. “I never, ever meant to make you think you don’t belong here.” He buries his face in his hair and his arms get a little bit tighter.

“It’s okay.” Ed noses at Roy’s shoulder, pressing his cheek against the soft material of his shirt. “I shoulda tried harder to ease the friction. I don’t _have_ to leave my shit everywhere, especially if it bothers you.”

“We’ll work on it,” Roy promises, bringing a hand up to stroke Ed’s hair.

Roy’s hand in his hair is transcendent, and Ed can feel himself crashing from the adrenaline high the fight had caused. He’s melting in Roy’s arms, and both loves and hates that the bastard can bring him to this.

It’s right, though, being in Roy’s arms, being this close to him, and Ed’s learned not to question why. There isn’t an answer that can satisfy, because love defies reason, and it had taken Ed a long time to learn that not all questions demand answers.

Later, Ed will put the suitcase back in the closet. They’ll lean against each other in front of the bathroom mirror and brush their teeth, curl up in bed together, and most of this will be forgotten until morning when they’ll sit and craft a solution over coffee at the little table in the kitchen. For now, though, it’s enough knowing that they’ll be okay, and Ed can stand to stay in Roy’s arms until one of them sees fit to move.

And if the suitcase on the floor bothers Roy, he isn’t mentioning it.


End file.
